


Her Grandpa

by ArtsyNeurotic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Feels, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyNeurotic/pseuds/ArtsyNeurotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman reminisces about her Ferelden grandfather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Grandpa

_(There is also an audio reading of this short[HERE](http://artsyneurotic.tumblr.com/post/111479628601/i-was-looking-through-some-of-my-little-angst))_

 

 

 

_\------_

I miss my grandpa.  
  
I feel fortunate that I was able to spend as much time with him as I did; my parents tell me that people live longer nowadays thanks to the long peace we've enjoyed.  Sometimes I read stories of what life was like when my grandpa was younger.  ... I think I like things much better now.  
  
I don't remember much about my grandma.  I was very young when she passed.  I just recall hazy moments in time.  Feelings.  Images.  I remember her smile.  I remember she and my grandpa were inseparable.  I wish I had known her better.    
  
I liked spending time with my grandpa.  My parents used to joke that he was always crotchety, even when he was younger... but I never minded.  He never treated me like a child; he never coddled or spoke down to me like my parents did.     
  
I often sneaked away to visit him.  He taught me how to use a sword, behind my parents' backs, of course.  They didn't want me "playing" with weapons, but he told me it was always good to be prepared.  He believed I could do it and I didn't want to let him down.  He told me I was gifted at it, like my grandma.  
  
But more than the swordplay, I loved visiting him to hear him spin amazing stories of when he was younger.  His adventures sounded like fantastic dreams... and in them my grandma was always so radiant, so awe-inspiring.  He beamed with pride when he told me such tales.  Sometimes his voice would get thick with emotion and fire.  I knew those were the most important ones to him.  
  
One day I was out walking with him, and something wasn't right.   He stopped walking and said he didn't remember anything.  He had this far-off gaze, like he thought he was supposed to be somewhere else, but wasn't.  He didn't know who I was, or where he was.  It scared me... but what scared me more was how scared **he** looked.  It took a little coaxing but I got him to remember things after a short while.  He was still pretty shaken about it though.    
  
I thought it was just a fluke.  
  
Then it happened again a few weeks later.  And then again a few weeks after that.  And it took longer for me to get through to him each time.  I got worried.    
  
I eventually told my parents.  I remember my aunts and uncles coming to visit, which they almost never did, and my father turning very somber.  My grandpa looked more distant as time went on; he stopped smiling.    
  
I didn't get to go on walks with grandpa after that.  He always had someone taking care of him, some experts of something or other coming to visit, me always being told to play outside while "the adults" talked.   I know he hated it because sometimes I heard them argue behind the closed door.  My grandpa still had a very commanding voice, even at his age.    
  
I don't remember how long it was after that.  
  
My parents were off on an errand and thought he was well secured... but it was my grandpa, so of course he wasn't.  I saw him sneak out of his room and run outside, and I followed quickly behind.    
  
I trailed him for a while until we came upon a quiet grove, with a huge tree in the center.  Its giant branches stirred in the air like these long gentle arms that brushed leaves back and forth, raining them gently down upon a stone slab underneath it.    
  
I watched him approach it cautiously, and brush the leaves off the top of the slab.  
  
"I know you're there, little sprite," he muttered as he brushed, a lopsided crinkle of a smile eking from his lips.  I came up to his side and held his hand.  I saw her name etched simply on the stone.  
  
I had never been to my grandma's grave, I abruptly realized.  I stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.  He stroked the stone with his fingers for a while... and then I felt his hand shake.  I looked up and saw silent tears stream from his face.  I tried squeezing his hand.  A soft squeeze of his fingers was all he could muster back.   He stood there for some time, but he didn't say anything... maybe he was trying to burn this moment into his memory.  Like he was afraid if he moved he'd forget it all.  

"Would you mind, "he whispered finally, his voice hoarse, "if I had a moment with your grandmother?"  I nodded slowly, and was rewarded with a tender kiss to my forehead.  "Go home, I'll be along shortly."  He paused, smiling faintly, "you remind me so much of her, you know. ... I know you'll do great things."   I told him I loved him, and left him with his thoughts.  

I found out later that day that he had died.    
  
They found him sitting against the slab, his grey curly hair fluttering gently in the grove's breeze, an empty vial nestled in the grass near him.  

  
My tiny heart cried for weeks.

  
\---

  
That was years ago.  Now I'm older, hopefully wiser.  I'm coincidentally around the age my grandma was when they first met.  Perhaps that's why I'm thinking about this now.  

  
I miss my grandpa.  

I hope he's at peace with my grandma, and that he is happy again.

 

...I hope he finally found his Inquisitor.  


End file.
